


The Nearest Thing to Heaven

by startyourbenjens



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Doctor Abby, F/M, Gen, Modern AU, Modern Era, Mostly Fluff, Single Parents AU, Sleepless in Seattle AU, Slow Romance, journalist marcus, kids bellamy octavia clarke and raven, mentions of character death (Jake & aurora) and some feelings around that, random appearances of other delinquents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 06:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17177492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startyourbenjens/pseuds/startyourbenjens
Summary: ‘Clarke tells me that your husband passed away, Abby. Did you want to talk about it?’Clarke calls into a radio talk show at the suggestion of her best friend, Raven Reyes, because her mom is sad and she doesn't know how to fix it. On the way to his mother's house for Christmas Eve, journalist Marcus Kane, along with his two kids in the back seat, listen to their story.Sleepless in Seattle Kabby AU.





	The Nearest Thing to Heaven

**CHRISTMAS EVE**

 

 

Clarke holds her mother’s phone in her palms, staring at the black plastic and brushed metal. She chews her bottom lip, rolling it through her two front teeth.

“Just do it.” A voice whines at her shoulder, leaning against her with eyes wide and waiting. Raven Reyes is a year older, an inch taller, and typically two steps ahead when it comes to jumping into action. Raven had grabbed Abby’s phone from the coffee table while her mother stepped outside their home to catch Nathan Miller in his driveway and ask him if he would be able to babysit the two next Friday evening when she has to stay late at work. “This is our only chance, you have to do it now.” Raven shoves a piece of paper with a phone number in Clarke’s hand.

“She’ll be mad at me.” Clarke protests but doesn’t loosen her grip on the cellphone.

Raven rolls her eyes and scoffs. “She’s never mad at you. Not _real_ mad.”

What Raven is saying is true but Clarke doesn’t like it when her mother is any kind of mad at her, real mad, pretend mad, a little mad or a lot mad. Raven and Clarke have a different idea of what mad is and even in her eight year old mind, Clarke recognizes this even if she doesn’t understand why. Raven’s mom gets mad in a different way that’s not like how her mom gets upset. Raven’s mom yells and she says mean things and then Raven sneaks over to Clarke’s house to huddle with her beneath the blankets until her mom wakes them in the morning. Clarke’s mom never gets mad like that. Even now, even if she dials the number Raven wrote down for her, Clarke knows her mom will never get mad like that.

“Okay.” Clarke wrinkles her nose and carefully puts in the unlock code to her mom’s phone.

 

———————————

  
“We’re going to be late.” Marcus glances at his watch with a furrowed wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows.

“Grandma doesn’t care.” Octavia whines, twisting her scarf three times around her neck so it tucks all the way up to her cheeks until she’s little more than a dark glare under a mountain of dark purple outerwear. Marcus unwraps her, tucking it under and over until it hangs comfortably. There’s a scowl set across her mouth to match the glare she gives him.

“I care.” He tugs her hat further down to cover her ears and ushers her toward the door. Bellamy’s heavy winter boots thud down the stairs as he joins them, dark curls tucking out beneath his hood. “Grandma cares. Santa cares. It’s not too late for him to leave coal in your stockings.”

Octavia huffs, a puff of white in the cold air as they rush toward the car. “You’ll still get me presents.”

“But I’ll get more.” Bellamy runs behind her, jumping into the backseat and buckling himself in to absorb the warmth. “If you’re bad, I get more presents than you do.”

“No you don’t!” She shouts, her shorter legs scrambling in behind him. Marcus shuts the door after they’re both safely secured in the vehicle, pinching the bridge of his nose as their muffled arguing continues. It’s an hour drive to his mother’s house and they’re already running half an hour behind. Octavia is still desperately trying to fight off her brother when Marcus climbs in too. Her voice whines high and loud throughout the compact car. “Dad, Bellamy won’t get more presents than me, right?”

“You’ll have to argue that one with Santa.” Marcus shrugs, starting the car. He forces himself to focus on his mirrors so she won’t see the curl of a smile appearing on his lips.

Octavia isn’t having it. Her arms thud down at her sides in a fit.

“Dad!”

“You know the rules.” Marcus’ voice is stern now, reminding her of their rules about raising their voice to each other. She quiets in the backseat, the whine dissipating to a series of low huffs. “Maybe if you behave, Grandma can put in a good word for you with him before the night is over.”

“Grandma doesn’t know Santa.”

“Grandma knows everyone.”

“Even Santa?”

“Especially Santa.”

“How?”

“They went to school together.”

The kids chuckle in the backseat. ‘I’m telling Grandma he said that!’ he hears Bellamy whisper to his sister and they both erupt into more soft, tiny laughter. The highway stretches on and Marcus feels a touch of relief now that they’re finally en route. The cold air is wearing away to be replaced by the car’s heater working its way into their bones. Marcus switches the radio on as the two settle in quietly behind him. Frosty the Snowman fills the car. Bellamy bobs along in a low hum and even Octavia’s little head moves side to side with the horns and the drums.

_‘That was Jimmy Durante’s classic Frosty the Snowman and this is Doctor’s Orders with Doctor Dante Wallace.’_

Marcus scowls, rolling his eyes and reaching out to the radio dials. Dante Wallace had what some would call an old fashioned perspective on the world but what Marcus would describe more accurately as antiquated. His advice seemed well intentioned but outdated in the scope of the people who called into his show. He was like the old grandfather trying to give dating advice who hasn’t been on a date since he got married at sixteen. Things had changed but Wallace was not one of them. Marcus could never understand why his own mother, a fairly progressive woman in the scope of all things, listened to his show unless it was to laugh and shake her head at all utter nonsense coming out of his mouth.

_‘I hear that our next caller is a little younger than our typical demographic but we’re happy to accommodate all listeners. What’s your name and where are you calling from?’_

**“Clarke.”** A girl’s voice crackles across the radio, soft and nervous. Marcus hesitates. He was seconds away from changing the station to anything that would spare him from Doctor’s Orders. He waits, pausing, then reluctantly turns the volume up. **“And I’m not supposed to tell people where I am.”**

Wallace’s chuckle echoes into the radio.

_‘No, you’re quite right, Clarke. You aren’t supposed to tell strangers where you are. Well, Clarke in the mystery land, what can I help you with today? Are you trying to get a message to Santa?’_

Marcus rolls his eyes.

**“No.”** A huff not unlike the one he just heard from Octavia comes out his speakers. **“Santa already has my list. I’m calling about my mom.”**

 

———————————

 

_'Alright, Clarke, tell us more about your mom. Do you want to wish her a Merry Christmas?'_

“No.” She blurts quickly. Clarke wishes he would stop asking so many questions but Doctor Wallace keeps talking and she has to say something. “I mean, yes. I will. But I don’t need to do that on the radio. She’s outside right now and I can tell her when she comes back.”

_'Okay. What about your mom do you want to talk about it?'_

“Tell him! Tell him!”

“Shhhh!”

_'Clarke? Is there someone with you?'_

“Sorry,” Clarke scowls at her friend. “That’s Raven. She’s the one who told me to call you.”

_'Our many thanks to Raven.'_

“She says you’re welcome. We—I mean, I, wanted to call because. Because she’s sad and I don’t know how to fix it.”

_'Well, I’m sure your mother would agree with me Clarke that even if she is sad, you don’t have to fix it all for her. Sometimes it takes a grown up to fix grown up problems.'_

“But that’s just it. There’s no other grown ups to help fix things since dad died.”

 

———————————

 

Marcus feels his breath catch in his chest. The line is quiet for what feels like an eternity in radio broadcast. Marcus is wondering how Dante is going to cover for this one when the old man starts speaking again.

_'Clarke, I’m very sorry to hear about your dad.'_ Somberness drips in his words. Marcus suspects Dante might genuinely feel bad right now, not that plastered emotion he saves for the nay-sayers and the lonely. _'Do you think I could talk to your mom for a minute, Clarke?'_

Marcus rolls his eyes, fingers squeezing the steering wheel. His kids are oddly quiet in the backseat for two people who were arguing less than fifteen minutes ago. He tilts his rear view mirror slightly to see both of them staring out the windows, hands clasped together in the middle seat.

**“No way!”** Little Clarke on the radio shouts back at Dante’s request.

**“Yes!”** Chimes in the other voice that Marcus is assumes is the aforementioned trouble-making friend, Raven.  
  
**“She would kill me. She’s not even supposed to know about this. I called so you could help me but you’re gonna get me in trouble—”**

_'Clarke, I’m not going to get you in trouble. Remember what I said about how sometimes it takes grown ups to fix grown up problems? Maybe I can help your mom with some of her grown up problems.'_

Marcus shakes his head, biting back a litany of curses at the older man.

Clarke’s voice drawls across the radio. **“I don’t know.”**

**“Just do it!”** Raven hisses into the speaker that hisses into the radio.

_'If your mom is upset, you can blame it all on me.'_

There’s a sound of wet air, like blowing bubbles through her lips. Marcus pictures a young girl who looks suspiciously like Octavia making the same movement, arms crossed, attitude ebbing out of her. **“Yeah like that’s going to change anything.”**

 

———————————

 

_'Clarke, don’t you think your mom would want to talk to me about your dad if I could help her?'_ Doctor Dante asks.

“No,” Clarke answers firmly, pushing Raven away when her friend stretches out her longer arms trying to grab the phone from her. Clarke wants to just hang up the phone now. She regrets ever listening to Raven but doesn’t want to be rude to Doctor Dante. Plus she hasn’t gotten any help so far either and she does want that. She pushes Raven back who falls onto the couch with a heavy thump and a giggle. Clarke sits down gently next to her, holding the phone between them. “It just makes her sadder talking about dad.”

_'I know, Clarke. I’ll bet it does. I’m sure it makes you sad too.'_

Clarke’s throat gets all scratchy and thick. Like it’s suddenly hard to swallow and talk at the same time.

“Yeah.” She murmurs, not looking at the phone or Raven or anything in particular but staring into the distance. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand, shoving the phone over to Raven.

Her mom is out front talking to their neighbor, Mrs. Green. Mrs. Green’s son Monty and Monty’s best friend Jasper are making piles in the snow around their feet. Monty is decorating the top of his snow mount with bits of grass and twigs until it slowly transforms into a house with windows and a roof and a chimney held together by sticks. Mrs. Green has just handed her mom a dinner plate with what looks like fudge stacked on top of it. Mrs. Green always bakes the best sweets and she’s made extra for them on every holiday since her dad died.

Clarke tugs on her orange snow boots and steps onto the sidewalk.

“Mom?”

  
———————————

  
Jingle Bell Rock starts playing when it’s been silent too long. Marcus doesn’t know if Clarke finally came to her senses and hung up the phone or if Dante’s pressure tactics have worked and she’s finally gone to get her mother.

“Dad, would you kill us if we called into this show?” Bellamy leans forward in his seat, hat askew on top of his mop of curls.

Marcus shoots him a warning look. Bellamy catches himself and sits back like he’s supposed to.

“Without a second thought. I would write the piece in the Post about it too. _Polis Post_   Journalist tragically loses children to mysterious death by candy incident. Vows never to eat sweets again.”

Bellamy and Octavia laugh together again. There’s a weathered library book on Bellamy’s lap and Octavia has Bellamy’s old portable nintendo in her hands but neither are paying attention to them. They’re making faces at each other and sending light shoves across the distances of the backseat. Marcus smiles, attention back on the road in front of them. They’re more than halfway there and he’s surprised at how fast the drive is going this time. His mother’s house will be rich with the smell of Christmas when they arrive and warm cookies will be heating in the oven by the time they’re done eating. An hour after that and both kids will be asleep with the one present they’re allowed to open on Christmas Eve tucked under their arms.

Marcus is about to call his mom to let her know how close they are when the music fades and a new voice comes in the speakers now.

**‘Who is this?’**

_‘Hi, is this Abby? This is Doctor Dante Wallace. You’re live on air for Doctor’s Orders. Clarke and her nice friend Raven called because they were concerned about you.’_

**‘I’m sorry — they did what? How do you know my name?’**

**‘I told you she was going to be mad!’**

**‘Listen, Doctor Wallace—’**

_‘Please, call me Dante. Miss Raven gave us your name while we were on a short commercial break waiting for you to join us.’_

**‘Did she?’**

There’s a hint of danger in that smoky, rich voice. Playful danger like this isn’t something completely unexpected from this young Raven.

Marcus rolls his eyes again.

**‘Dante, I’m sorry to disappoint your listeners but I’m perfectly fine and so is Clarke. Although she will be confined to her room for the rest of the evening.’**

_‘Clarke tells me that your husband passed away, Abby. Did you want to talk about it?’_

 

———————————

  
Abby didn’t realize she was pacing until her legs stopped moving. Dante’s question hits her hard and fast. She could end this right now if she wanted to, one red button would be all it takes to put them all out of their misery on this terribly bad idea. Dante calls her name again, trying to usher an answer from her that isn’t ready to come out. Clarke stares at her in a panic, eyes wide. Raven matches her gaze for gaze, jaw dropped in shock.

Her free hand seeks out the comforting weight of her husband’s ring on the silver chain around her neck. Her finger slides around it's cool curves, the familiar weight and shape bringing her back to the ground. Abby clears her throat into the phone, finding her voice softer than before. “She did?”

“I didn’t! Not—not. I didn’t meant to. It just came out.” Clarke’s crestfallen face looks down at the floor between their feet. Tears threaten to fall. Abby lets the ring fall back into place beneath the cut of her blouse and reaches instead to brush back the blonde curls from her daughter’s face. Errant strands are tucked behind her ears, a soft caress tickles under her chin. Abby feels the bite still in her system though, the outrage she was kindling that some radio personality would be brazen enough to trick her child into airing their personal matters for his gain.

“Well, thank you again for your concern, Dante, but I have a therapist and so does Clarke. One who doesn’t broadcast our conversations over the radio. If there is an issue we need to resolve, I can make an appointment with her.”

_‘Abby, we’re not here to lay out all of your personal matters for everyone to pick through.’_

 

———————————

 

Marcus scoffs. “Sure you are.”

**‘Sure you are.** ’ Abby’s radio voice echoes at the same time.

Octavia gasps in the backseat.

Marcus turns the volume up.

 

———————————

 

Dante pushes forward through Abby’s sharp retort.

_'We’re here because your daughter and her friend called in because they’re concerned about you. The people who love you feel like you’re unhappy and they can see it. Who knows if other people can see it too? Why do you think that is, Abby?'_

“She doesn’t sleep.” Raven’s long form hovers near her. The tall young girl has a way of making herself known when her proclamation carries into the phone and the radio and God knows how many people listening at this moment.

“How do you know?” Abby covers the phone and stares at Raven. The girl shrugs, a bold, impetuous smirk comes with it.

“Uhh because I practically live here. Duuuh.”

Dante’s voice comes in loud between her fingers and Abby puts the phone back to her ear.

_'Tell me about your husband, Abby. How long ago did he pass away?'_

It feels like it’s too late to turn back now even though the same power she held moments ago, that ability to end this whole, excruciating moment is still completely within reach if she would only press that one button. Instead, Abby sits down on the well-loved sofa and Clarke and Raven fall into place on either side of her.

“Three years.” She confesses. Raven makes herself comfortable with her head on her lap, long brown hair flowing out over Abby’s knees, eyes closed and hands folded on her stomach. Clarke nestles against her higher, head resting on Abby’s shoulder next to the phone so she can hear too.

Contentment warms across her body, flowing out from her shoulders to her hands and flushing across her cheeks. She watches Clarke who is watching her when she speaks again.

“Jake made everything…bigger. There were no small dinners or little outings or casual Wednesday grocery shopping. I don’t know how he always had the energy to be the stay-at-home dad and a husband and our daily superhero all in one. Weekends were for adventures and you could never simply order takeout with Jake. You had to try something new every time and if you thought you tried it all then it was time for a new restaurant. It was…exhausting and exhilarating and holidays were weeks long, not one day in the year. Christmas decorations were up before the Thanksgiving turkey was on the table.”

Abby feels that same weariness creep in again. That one that brings warm memories of her husband and tiring nights of crying alone in a bed that’s too big. Some days it’s easier to talk about Jake and what he would do if he were there or what they used to love doing together. Some nights it’s like staring at a fully decorated Christmas tree in the corner of their living room, only all of the ornaments seem too carefully placed, too orderly, and she longs for the haphazard lengths of silver tinsel that would fall off the branches long after you put it back.

A soft snore carries up to her. Raven has fallen asleep on her lap. Clarke’s head is resting comfortably, her eyes closed but not quite lulled into a slumber yet.

“They’re hard now. The holidays. It’s tough this time of year.” Abby ends quietly.

_‘Do you think it’s hard for Clarke too?’_

No, she called into a radio station to talk to a stranger because it’s great. Abby bites back the meanness, too tired for that kind of honesty right now. Dante Wallace and his nosy listeners don’t deserve that much from her.

Clarke’s eyes slowly flutter open, lids still heavy with an early bedtime in her near future.

“She’s a tough kid, Dante.”

_‘And you? What are you going to do, Abby?’_

“I’m going to get our of bed every morning.” Abby sighs. “I’m going to breathe in and out. I’m going to make breakfast in the mornings and maybe after a while I won’t have to think about how I had it so good for a little while. I’ll only focus on all the great things I have right in front of me.”

_‘Abby, have you ever considered dating again? You don’t have to do it all by yourself, you know. You and Clarke could have someone else to—’_

“I don’t need anyone.” Clarke shakes her head against Abby’s shoulder. Her little blonde brow furrows and a thin pout appears with it. She’s just loud enough to startle Raven awake, to make Abby turn her head toward her daughter.

_‘You don’t?’_

Clarke shakes her head again.

“No. I have my mom.”

———————————

Marcus shuts off the radio with a click. The car is silent for the last few minutes of their drive until his mother’s home is in sight.

Vera Kane’s house sparkles with rows and rows of multicolored lights and decorative Santa Clauses and a nativity scene silhouetted in the large bay window near the driveway. His mother stands in the doorway as he drives in. Bellamy and Octavia wrestle with their seatbelts until both are free and stumbling out of the still warm car to run to their grandmother who engulfs them in her embrace, ushering them inside. Marcus is left to grab bags of clothing and boxes of presents from the trunk with the crisp, cold air biting at the back of his neck.

“Marcus! Hurry inside!” Vera Kane beckons him from the doorway, tugging her thick woolen sweater tighter around her. Marcus spots a pile of chopped wood outside the front door and wonders if his mother was waiting for them to arrive before lighting the fireplace.

Carefully juggling presents and bags in his arms, Marcus leans down far enough to grasp one of the larger cut logs and haul it into the mix.

“On my way, Mom.”

**Author's Note:**

> This might be the fluffiest thing I've ever done. Do you have a cavity yet? (hi i'm so awkward at notes i literally don't know what to put ever). 
> 
> Thanks to any who read/kudos/comment! I hope you'll enjoy this little work and the chapters to come!


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